Little guy: "Mom, Pug has a rat."
Me: "Huh, huh, wha, huh?"
Little guy: "I let Pug in and he brought a rat into the house."
Me: "Is the rat dead?"
Little guy: "I think so."
Me: "So put the rat outside."
Little guy: "That's not my job, mom."
Me: "Ugh!" as I toss the covers off of me and stagger out of bed and into the living room.
The little guy and I found Pug and the clearly dead rat under the dining table. He lay there, one paw on the rat's head and just stared us down...daring us to do something. Neither of us was willing to risk pulling back a bloody nub to take the rat away from Pug, so we just settled in to see if he'd abandon it. No sucha ruck. That cat of ours, with his wonderful waste not want not attitude, proceeded to eat that rat, from head to tail, apparently. I abandoned the show after about 30 seconds, but little guy relayed to me this morning that nothing was left when Pug was done.
Once back in bed, I kerflippy flopped for about ten minutes, grossed out by the ghastly images in my mind and was just about to nod off when Pug jumped on the foot of the bed, walked up my body, and settled in on my stomach, kneading with both front paws.
I was massaged to sleep thinking, "I guess nothing goes quite as well with rat as some biscuits...."
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